COVID-19: the crisis that changed us forever

As March 2025 marches on, my mind takes me back to 2020, to those milestone dates that still bring back such vivid memories of the COVID-19 pandemic. For me, it started even earlier, and five years later, in ways big and small, positive and negative, the effects can still be felt.

It was very late December 2019, and I was sitting alone on a beach near Umdloti. I was scrolling through News24, when an article about a strange new virus that had hit the province of Wuhan in China caught my eye. People were getting very sick, and the hospitals were full of dying people of all ages. But this was far away. I read further, and learned about what was called a lockdown. The city was surrounded by soldiers ensuring that residents didn’t leave their homes. Armed police patrolled the streets wearing masks. How very sad, I thought, and then turned my attention once again to the blue horizon and crashing waves in front of me.

Fast forward to Purim at King David Rosabelle Klein Nursery School on Tuesday, 10 March 2020. We hosted a large gathering of parents for our Megillah reading. It was an amazing morning, and the turnout was great. One of the moms had just returned from a trip to the United States. I hugged her in welcome, and the day continued. The children played in their dress-up costumes. We ate hamantaschen. And then school was over.

That night, I received a message from Rabbi Craig Kacev, then director of the South African Board of Jewish Education. He had learned that a King David parent had tested positive for what was now known as COVID-19, but the parent was feeling fine. Soon after that, the mom who had just returned from the United States called me. My heart started to race. I got goosebumps. It was after 19:00, and she was sitting in her doctor’s rooms. After we spoke, I sat there quietly, thinking that this may be bigger than me. I never panic. I’m not the hysterical type. I called Kacev and said, “Rabbi, I think we may have a problem.”

The messages and WhatsApps were incessant. The rumour mill had gone into overdrive. Urgent community meetings were scheduled, and an extraordinary meeting for all King David School heads was called. Usually, we are a rowdy bunch, calling to each other and laughing as the collegial group we are. This time, we sat apart. We were quiet. And then Professor Barry Schoub stood up. You could have heard a pin drop, such was the silence in the room. As I had been in contact with a COVID-19 positive person, I was asked to leave the meeting, and was summarily placed into quarantine. Talk about a walk of shame!

And then a letter went out on Sunday, 15 March. Schools were closed with immediate effect. I made sure to contact all my staff, assistants, ground staff, and parents, ensuring that the news had reached everybody. It was here – this funny COVID-19 thing was here. President Cyril Ramaphosa announced a state of disaster, and declared that we would enter Level 5 lockdown from midnight on Thursday, 26 March.

Cleared of any risk of COVID-19, I called my staff to the school so that we could plan for the next few weeks of lockdown. Autumn leaves lay on the ground, our Purim posters were still on our classroom walls. We said goodbye not knowing that “a few weeks” would turn into two years of a new reality.

It was eerie and scary. Months of lockdown. Anxiety. People we knew and loved getting sick. Podcasts and webinars. We all became professors of virology, pulmonology, and infectious diseases. And we stayed home. Home deliveries became the norm, and created a brand-new burgeoning business. Masks and sanitisers were peddled shamelessly on Joburg Jewish Mommies. And we remained at home. “Pandemic; disaster”. A new vocabulary now effortlessly fell from our lips: “Zoom; mute; ventilator; screening; distancing; masks; tracing; PPE; flattening the curve; N95; quarantine; NICD; Fauci; respirators; comorbidities”. And we stayed home.

I remember dreary mornings hunched over my laptop in my hurriedly assembled home office. Messages each day to my staff to ensure that learning took place online. A myriad of phone calls and emails were exchanged with teaching staff, securing packs and schedules. Communication with parents was paramount. I Zoomed into the classes, overwhelmed by the fuzzy images of our precious children on my screen: surely this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be?

The streets were quiet. Shops were eerie in their emptiness. Every day, with more and more gazettes, regulations, and documentation issued by the government and the department of education and social development, we hoped that we would be able to return to school. And we Zoomed and Zoomed and Zoomed.

And then, euphoria! We were directed to allow Grade Rs back to school. Videos to prepare the kids for the “new normal” were circulated. Photos were taken. Standard Operating Procedures were drafted, corrected, and redrafted. We measured and remeasured distances. We opened for our Grade R groups on 8 June 2020 to much fanfare and, dare I say, lots of nerves and much delight.

The kids were extremely resilient as they weren’t privy to the terrors and unknowns of the virus. On the other hand, parents were understandably anxious. We took every precaution, and consulted with professionals at every turn. We knew without a doubt that the kids needed to be back at school with their peers and doing what kids need to do – play, learn, and socialise. We had no choice but to pivot, and to do whatever we could to ensure that our kids were learning and progressing. The use of hybrid educational tools to get through the curriculum was paramount. Teachers became proficient and adept at using their devices to teach, and of course Zoom and Teams became part of our new jargon, platforms we use to this day.

Schools opened and closed and opened again through many spikes in infections. We continued to wear masks until May 2022. It wasn’t easy for children or teachers over a long school day, but if we were building anything to get us through tough times, it was resilience, so we leaned into it to do whatever was needed to stay at school.

When I look back on this time, I cannot believe that it has been five years.

There are negative remnants from that time. Many adults, especially teachers who were balancing being teachers and parents, are still feeling the effects, and some still feel burnt out from that crazy era.

My colleagues in primary and high school environments agree that the effects of COVID-19 on our students are difficult to ignore, from delays in certain academic areas to a worrying reliance on phones and devices. The most worrying of course is the lack of socialisation that resulted from months behind closed doors where being with friends was always behind a screen. Now, many kids are battling to communicate and interact appropriately face to face.

However, as with most things in life and with hindsight being 20/20, there are a lot of positive elements from the experience. We all rose to the occasion with strength and resilience, and we now know that we can get through tough, crazy times. We learned to pivot, and our use of technology jumped exponentially, setting our schools and students up for 21st century learning. We discovered a community which cared immensely and showed support through meals, gifts, collections, and telephone calls to the lonely. The comradery was spectacular and filled our souls. Our incredible community reached out to the less privileged in our country and provided resources to keep children learning and playing.

The greatest terror of COVID-19 turned out to be anxiety about the unknown. It’s a lesson I’ve taken to heart – to try not to carry a world of unknown fears, but simply deal with what is. Students, parents, and educators have built a toolkit of resilience, flexibility and strength, skills that we shouldn’t take for granted.

As we mark five years since those extraordinary times, I’m reminded that while challenges may come unexpectedly, so too does our ability to rise above them. The echoes of COVID-19 still linger, but they don’t define us, our strength, adaptability, and unwavering sense of community do. We move forward, not forgetting, but carrying with us the lessons that made us stronger, more connected, and ready for whatever may come next.

• Caron Levy is head of school at King David Rosabelle Klein Nursery School.